


Blowback

by Niler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-29 06:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: It's so easy to get it twisted





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnysideup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnysideup/gifts).



> Just a chapter for you, babe. Hope you enjoy

 

Blowback

 

 

_“Never break cover. No matter what happens, never break cover. No matter how bad things look there’s always room for things to change. Could happen in a split second and if you’re still breathing that means they’re not on to you and you can pull it back. Break cover and it’s all over...”_

The memory of the words comes tumbling back with the advent of returning consciousness, accompanied by the searing pain of what feels like a broken jaw.

Everything everywhere is black, the velvety dark of impending slumber, and for a moment he’s disoriented, wondering with an abrupt gallop of panic whether they did his eyes when he was out of it.

No, he can see; it’s just that the room’s dark, no light anywhere, which means he’s still tied to a chair in the cellar of the house they’ve been squatting in the past week.

And with that the panic comes burbling up and over, out of his mouth in a gurgling belch of awareness.

He is going to die – experience the worst pain he has ever experienced in his life, and then die.

He won’t break cover – no point; they’ll kill him anyway.

He’ll die in service of the job, the job he has summarily failed.

Unless...

Unless it’s the job that’s failed _him_.

 

 

4 Months ago

 

Chris Waites doesn’t really look like a Chris, more of a Christopher or maybe even a Crispin.

Liam isn’t familiar enough with the circles in which Chris obviously moves to nail the designer threads, but he knows they are designer threads – something about the casual manner, the inherent confidence in the demeanour.

People born to wealth move differently through the world and Liam recognises the signs.

It’s just he can’t believe he’s a bloody copper!

Nothing about him says copper – nothing.

Maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised then that he’s the big cheese in the undercover unit.

“Sergeant Payne – Liam. Thank you for coming. Please take a seat.”

He has an easy charm, witty and self-deprecating, but maybe because Liam’s very aware of the guy’s status as the head of the unit has to wonder whether this isn’t simply another persona he adopts: charm, disarm, get ‘em to trust you.

Well, it works – everything he says gets Liam to let down his guard a little more, like him a little more, trust him a lot more.

He’s here because he wants to be, yes, but he was _suggested_ for the assignment and there’s a part of this which is very much about not letting his gaffer down, proving his judgement sound.

Truth is he’d never considered undercover till his gaffer suggested him for the unit.

It’s not a promotion, but there’s no doubt if he does well, successfully completes his task his star will rise and that’s never a bad thing. 

His intention is to rise through the ranks as quickly as possible, achieve the position of gaffer, but saying that, he wants to be the most over qualified gaffer the station’s ever seen – the qualifications being time spent hands on getting mired in the blood and dirt of real police work.

He intends to be respected, intends to show the young upstarts under him what real coppering looks like; to never demand of them what he hasn’t been willing to do himself. So, to that end, the sideways move to the unit – temporarily – comes as a godsend.

And so far it’s going well.

Well, that is, until, after softening him up, ensuring he has him well and truly hooked, Chris lays the hammer on him...

 

**

He’s been single for a while.

‘Gay’ and ‘copper’ don’t exactly make for easy bedfellows and he’s pretty much chosen the job over personal relationships.

Sex he gets – mostly outside of the city, certainly far, far from anywhere he thinks he might be seen or recognised - and it’s okay.

He gets lonely at times, course he does, but where he’s at now necessitates him keeping it that way for a little longer.

He knows he’ll meet someone eventually, that things will change, but for right now he’s more intent on dealing with the issues in front of him.

The future can wait; the future is definitely not going anywhere.

So he’s been sent home to think about things.

The role he’s being asked to play exceeds anything his little mind conceived of when it envisaged ‘going undercover’ and the shock of this must have been evident hence why Chris advised him to give it a couple days consideration before agreeing to take it on.

God, what did they think he was? He hasn’t had any experience in anything like this. What was his gaffer thinking when he suggested him? Did he know the scope of this, the parameters of this thing?

He has no idea what to do and regrets for a moment not having someone there to talk to; someone to tell him how stupid it is for even giving it a minute’s consideration, to just say no.

A partner would definitely talk him out of it.

But he hasn’t got a partner and part of the reason he hasn’t got a partner is because they would try to talk him out of it, and despite his innate and well developed sense of self preservation there’s an ungoverned, primitive side of him that will occasionally claim ascendancy, tell the sensible part of him in no uncertain terms to go fuck itself.

He can _feel_ that primitive in him, its wildly impetuous let’s run this show on gut and instincts rather than logic and self preservation nature uncurling, stretching its limbs...

And it hasn’t taken days, hasn’t even taken hours because he’s already reaching for his mobile, almost vibrating with excitement.

Even as he’s dialling the number he’s asking himself what the hell he thinks he’s doing, telling himself just how stupid this is, yet doesn’t abort the call.

 

**

“We have some info on the main players – not a lot, certainly not as much as I’d like.”

Chris has completely changed; designer threads replaced by scruffy sweats and leather, tatty trainers on his feet, his hair, free of styling gel, falling untidily, greasily around his unshaven face.

Even his stance has altered and noticing this surprises within Liam a pulse of uncertainty.

Is _he_ expected to have that level of skill, to have the ability to completely alter his persona at the drop of a hat?

He’s done a fair bit of acting, has been trained in a variety of techniques, but doesn’t believe for one minute he has the skill to take on a different persona, _embody_ that persona 24/7.

Acting on stage where everyone knows they’re in a play, where you’re all aware you’re playing out a fantasy has to be miles removed from pretending to be someone you’re not when all the other ‘players’ are anything but players, where you and they are on entirely different pages.

Oh boy.

“And you’re sure they’ll buy my cover?” It’s a stupid question, one he definitely regrets asking when he clocks the expression in Chris’ eyes, but it had to be asked.

“No, I’m not. You’re going to have to sell it to be honest, Liam. They’re going to have to buy _you_ otherwise we’re not going forward.” The ensuing silence is heavy with all the things that will remain unspoken. Liam’s been in the job long enough to expect and accept this, though this is the most potentially hazardous assignment he’s ever undertaken.

A nice funeral, prettily worded accolades and write ups in the paper’s all very nice, but when you’re dead none of that will even register – or matter.

He’d much rather keep his life than end up as a photo on the station wall.

Besides, he intends to be remembered for something _other_ than dying on the job.

So yeah, they’ll buy his cover; absolutely no intention of dying on the job.

“We know Porter’s the enforcer and obviously be very wary of him. He’s a thug, but a wily one. Do not, I repeat, do not ever underestimate him. Got that? Great. Now, we’re not really sure which of them’s the brains behind the operation, because to be frank, they’re a little too careful and we don’t yet have entirely credible sources. We think it’s probably Jay Malik because we have so little on him. Any guy who can run with a gang that bad and have so little dirt on him, so little traceable info has to be suspect, but saying that, we’re just not sure. Willow Wilson’s the other candidate. Interesting character: Eton educated, fucked off Oxbridge, fucked off the family wealth and went into animal rights, environmental issues – the usual stuff. Been arrested several times at protests – minor stuff. You’d expect him to have been picked up for possession at some point, but apparently he doesn’t ‘do drugs’.” His voice morphs into a drawling upper class sneer startling Liam into looking at him rather than the tablet he’s holding.

There’s a brief flash of _somethin_ g before Chris’ features settle into neutral lines once more.

Interesting.

What was that though? Was it to do with them both being from the same background and Chris taking the fact that he’s a criminal personally?

Seems a bit unprofessional to him and if there’s one thing he can say about Chris it’s that he’s far from unprofessional, so must be more to it than that...

“There are minor players – hangers on - but those are the core three. Not sure how they all met – not exactly a match made in heaven you’d have thought – but might give us a lot more to go on if we can get to the bottom of it. Bear in mind they only came to our intention because we connected them to the Boldmere Pallisades incident. And that was so random. We just got _lucky_ , basically.” He smiles for the first time that day. “Bet you’d be surprised how big a part luck plays in our ops at times. Sad to say but a fact nonetheless.”

Liam returns the smile knowing just how big a role luck played in him getting to where he is now.

“The crazy part of all this is that we know so little about how they operate. We know Porter enforces because we do have a lot more information on him – and we know that they make money – a ton of it. We also know they steal stuff. We’re pretty certain they run drugs. What we do not have is any evidence tying them to any crimes so far.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“Absolutely.” He puts his tablet on the table and turns his full attention to Liam. “And a lot is resting on you, sergeant. If they don’t buy you then we are fucked. It’s our one shot at this and if we don’t get in this way I don’t see how else we’re going to get the evidence we need.”

“No pressure then.”

“Well, exactly. This will probably be the toughest, most dangerous assignment you ever undertake and I have no intention of pussyfooting around the issues. We need evidence and to get it you’ll have to willingly step into the lion’s den and stay still while he sniffs you out, all the while knowing he could decide to bite your head off at any moment. You’re willing to do that and that’s great, but you may never get the opportunity if you fail at the first hurdle.”

“So, how can I ensure I don’t fail?”

For the first time Chris looks a little uncomfortable, shifting as he makes an obvious point of looking Liam full in the face.

“Well, one thing we think we know for sure is that at least one of the three likes men – is gay – and we think we know where he likes to hang out.”

Liam maintains eye contact, making a conscious effort to give nothing away by so much as a twitch. “You want me to try to get picked up?”

“No, I want you to get picked up, form a relationship, get yourself on the inside. Think you can do that?”

Liam pretends to ruminate. “Hmm. Maybe just one slight problem.”

“Okay.”

“Why would you think I’m his type – whoever he is?”

Chris doesn’t look away. “You’re his type.”

Liam has to make a concerted effort not to show his impatience at this response. “Look, if this was about me pretending to be a criminal like them, get into the gang because of my – fake – criminal credentials I could see that working, but to rely on this guy wanting to pick up some random guy in a club I don’t think that’s the best way.”

“Because you don’t think you’ll be able to act gay for the duration?” Though Chris’ gaze is penetrating, there’s no hint of mockery there. He knows, though. It’s obvious that he knows.

Is that why he was chosen?

Does that mean his _gaffer_ knows?

“I can do that, what I can’t do is guarantee he’ll want _me_ rather than the hundreds of fit guys in the bloody club!”

Chris loosens the tractor beam of his gaze as he returns his focus to the tablet. “You’ll find a way.”

And that seems to be it – subject closed.

Liam’s silently seething, feeling like he’s just been sucker punched.

There he was preparing to be nervous as hell most days; watching his back, on tenterhooks wondering when his cover was going to be blown.

Not once did he expect even before _starting_ to be made to feel inadequate, knowing he’d fail simply because he wasn’t attractive enough to snag the attention of whichever guy was being targeted.

Come to think of it who the fuck was the guy?

“So which one is it then?”

To his credit Chris doesn’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. He’s casually scrolling the tablet as he says: “Could be any of them.”

Liam snorts. “Porter? Really?”

“Let’s hope it’s _not_ him.” He continues scrolling, apparently not noticing the way Liam blanches. “We don’t have great pics of any of them, but here you go.” He hands him the tablet.

Liam definitely wasn’t expected Willow Wilson to be mixed race, nor Porter to look like a Greek God. Jay Malik is the only one who sort of conforms to expectations – good-looking Asian who, judging by his demeanour, seems to think he’s god’s gift.

None of them strike him as gay and furthermore none of them would be interested in him.

The assignment’s failed even before it’s got going.

“Chris, I honestly don’t think-“

“If I didn’t think you could do it we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Chris’ voice is quiet, solemn. “I know you’re having a hard time believing this, Liam, but this is going to be the _easy_ part for you. I have no doubt you’ll be able to snag this guy’s interest and once you’ve got it, make him fall for you – that is not in question for me – it’s obviously everything that comes after that’ll be tricky, not that part, however.”

Liam returns Chris stare for a long, intense moment before being forced to break eye contact.

“Okay then – if _you_ think I can do it then I can do it.”

“That’s the spirit. Right then.” He’s all business now, clearly ready to bring the meeting to a close. “We’ll see about getting you in that club this Saturday then.”

“What? I thought I’d have at least a few more-“

“Don’t panic. We need you to be a regular. We can’t rely on a one off, chance meeting. We want him to see you around, watch you for a bit then make his move. Make sense? Good. So. Anything you want to ask before I let you go?”

The answer he’s looking for is clearly ‘no’ and anyway Liam needs to get some air, get some time to himself to digest it all, so he gives the expected answer and takes his leave, wondering if every subsequent meeting with Chris Waites will end with him feeling like he’s just been put through the wringer.

He takes refuge in the canteen, nursing a strong cup of coffee as the thoughts race through his mind.

Porter really astonished him, his good looks such a surprise he’d had to stop himself gasping out loud. Willow Wilson, weedy and almost effeminate looking was not his type at all, so if, as seemed likely, he’s the gay one, he’s sort of fucked even if he does succeed.

He’d been interested in discussing the ethics of being undercover, trying to maintain cover by acting like you’d be expected to act if you were actually that persona and Chris had made it clear that you had to do what you had to do if it meant maintaining the cover. Short of actually omitting criminal acts for which the force couldn’t cover you you simply did what you had to do...

As far as he’s concerned sleeping with Willow Wilson’s probably asking more of him than he’s willing to give, but then immediately berates himself for being so shallow.

Porter and Malik are lookers, but they’re still criminals and he should be just as turned off at the thought of sleeping with either of them.

But he’s also human and the fervent wish to be proven wrong and have Wilson turn out to be the straightest of the straight is very real.

He isn’t sure who he’d prefer out of Porter and Malik, but if Porter’s as thuggish as Chris claims then by default it has to be Malik.

But he has to be careful not to ‘choose’ him, settle on him, since it will only make the disappointment even greater when it’s weedy Willow Wilson he sees in the bar on Saturday.

How did Chris know he was gay, though, and what the fuck was all that intense staring into his eyes at the end all about?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only posting another chapter because Sunnysideup asked for a little more. :)

Officially he’s now part of the Undercover Unit and has no business anywhere near the ‘office’. He goes into action on Saturday and, well, even before then he has to become Lee Payne, alter himself, become this mythical creature he pretty much has to build from the ground up.

He’s sure he can do it, except he isn’t sure what doing it for a protracted length of time will do to him.

He doesn’t know that much about being undercover, never met anyone in the unit outside of Chris; all he knows is that it ruins lives, breaks up marriages, corrupts formerly straight shooters.

Well, that’s the talk, anyway. He’d just accepted it as truth, not having had that much interest in undercover work.  It had made sense to him, though.

He’d secretly mused that you’d have to be pretty close to the edge to even consider undercover, so becoming corrupted as a result of a stint in the unit seemed par for the course.

He’d never really considered the strength of character required to do the work in the first place nor that remaining straight was the least of it. Meeting Chris, listening to the things he took for granted, things that made Liam pale on hearing them had him swiftly changing his mind.

Of course, a huge contributor  to his slightly holier than thou attitude stemmed from his belief that you had to be a straight shooter, that lying should never be an integral part of what you did day to day.

Oh obviously you had to every now and again _bend_ the truth, but that would be the exception rather than the rule.

Undercover by its very nature was the polar opposite of this philosophy, and though the holier-than-thou part, which, naturally, frowned on this was still very much present the other part (the part that still had the capacity to astound him) was very much onboard, not giving a flying fuck about the unsavoury aspects of the job. Furthermore it actually relished the prospect of having him lie through his teeth, think on his feet, deal in deceit like it was the coin of the realm.

Perhaps this aspect of his personality isn’t as well hidden as he likes to think; perhaps both his gaffer and Chris had clocked this, thus the assignment.

So there are a couple of nagging question to which he needs answers, thus the not officially sanctioned side trip to the office.

 

**

Weatherly’s surprised to see him, looking hot and flustered as he wrestles with the detested paperwork.

It’s a well known fact that their gaffer can’t read, or at least that’s his excuse for foisting a lot of the paperwork onto Maddy Simpson, his DI. His other excuse is that it’s his way of getting her ready to take over once the job forcibly puts him out to pasture.

Yeah, right.

No, he’s a lazy, manipulative sod whose only reason for getting so far up the ladder is that he’s brilliant at the job and people love him.

He’s twenty years older than Liam, but Liam swears there are days he looks _younger_.

He thinks Weatherly’s a little queer, but he’s married – apparently happily so – to a woman and to be fair Liam’s not actually _heard_ any rumours about him.

Some things are unmistakable, however, and the way his gaffer looks at him sometimes – not just him, but other guys, too – makes him fairly sure he isn’t completely straight, which is why he’s here, a burning question in hand.

“Thought we’d parcelled you off to the netherworld, Liam. Wasn’t expecting to see that pretty face this side of Christmas.”

Liam muses  that either his gaffer has a lot of faith in his ability to get some gangster to fall for him, be so appealing he’ll not only be allowed inside the inner circle, be so effective he’ll eventually bring the empire crashing down. That or he thinks he’ll fail at the first hurdle and be back in the office _well_ before Christmas.

He _knows_ it’s more likely to be the former if anything, but you just can’t take anything for granted these days.

“Just thought I’d drop in before the netherworld claims me for good.”

Weatherly’s eyes are a sort of hazel, tending more to light brown than green, but the brown eyes with the blond hair is a combination he’d assume most people would find arresting.

Today the eyes are a little tired, red-rimmed, bright with fatigue.

Liam’s well aware how he’s feeling – so tired you numbly turn the corner and run smack bang into a peculiar sort of delirium.

They’re working a murder case and, as always, it fucks up sleep patterns, eating times; gets you addicted to red bull or coffee, anything loaded with sugar.

He’s glad he’s out of it.

Looking at the way his gaffer’s dragging, yeah, really glad.

“Everything okay, there?” Weatherly’s stare is casual, but the undertone in his voice says: if they fuck with you they fuck with me and no-one fucks with me!

Liam can admit to himself that this is what he’d been secretly hoping to get from him.

He hasn’t seen his gaffer for what feels like weeks.

As a boss Chris is difficult – amenable enough, but a little cold when he isn’t trying to butter you up. Liam suspects it has a lot to do with him being an undercover operative; the way he might feel the need to compartmentalise. Still, that’s not really how he’s used to working. Weatherly’s a boss alright, yet has the skill to only seem like a boss when necessary. Chris, maybe because of the upperclass accent, the glib charm coupled with the cool distance, seems very much a boss and Liam’s sure he’ll struggle to confide in him (though obviously he’ll have to get over that sharpish if he wants to make this assignment as plain sailing as possible).

“It’s great, Gaffer, thanks for putting me forward.” A pause, as the question he wants answered hovers in the air between them.

Now Weatherly could play dumb and act like he doesn’t know what question’s banging away at Liam’s mind or he could let him ask and answer him straight.

 His gaffer’s a piss taker, so ordinarily Liam’s money would be on the former. He’s tired, though, so it _might_ be the latter.

Yeah; favouring him with a neutral stare Weatherly visibly relaxes in his seat and waits for Liam to ask.  

 

**

Liam’s accustomed to gay bars.

None in the city, true, but gay bars nonetheless. This one, at first blush, bears no glaring differences to the ones he’s used to – loud music, crush of bodies, air spiked with the scent of cologne and light sweat. Give it a few hours and the sweat will be a little more pungent, the tension in the air a little more primal.

Right now, it’s manageable; early doors as he wanted to be able to give himself the best chance to clock Wilson, analyse him, try to work out how best to approach him.

He’s forgotten what it’s like to be in a bar this early in the evening, just after the doors first open.

It feels different – empty, unsure of itself. Later it’ll be filled with over confidence; desperation, determination, impulsiveness, cocksure shit talking.  Right now it’s a little stark, a little exposed. But that’s good, Chris assured him; gives their target a chance to clock him.

He’s to keep coming here at this time, to establish a pattern as well as give subtle hints about his personality type; maybe stay an hour or two then leave alone.

Chris seems convinced this will be enough to snag their target.

Liam certainly hopes so, while secretly hoping it fails miserably.

He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to a certain ambivalence about the enterprise.

On the one hand he’s excited to be involved in this new and potentially hazardous undertaking. On the other hand he wants to be back in the incident room with his colleagues; strained, stressed, traumatised by yet another senseless murder yet familiar enough with feeling this way to regard it as normal, par for the course.

He knows that side of the job inside and out; knows what’ll be required of him, knows in what direction the investigation might take him, the hazards he’s likely to face.

This is on a whole other level, requiring him to rely more on his personality, his instincts, stripped of the trappings of authority that take you places you wouldn’t otherwise be allowed.

He can’t count on the badge gaining him the automatic respect he sees time and time again from the general public.

All he’ll be armed with are his wits and personality.

Chris’ implication was that he also had some type of appeal – sexual appeal – but since this is something Liam wholly refutes, he feels ever more naked and vulnerable.  He isn’t at all sure he has sufficient wit or personality to get him where he needs to be.

What if Wilson doesn’t bite?

Failing at this first hurdle will not only be disastrous for the op, but pretty humiliating on a purely personal level, too.

But he can’t afford to think that way, so the first thing is to find a good vantage point so that he’ll be in a position to spot Wilson when – if – he arrives.

That could take hours though.

With a breathy sigh he acknowledges that this assignment could end up being a real fucking pain in the arse.

 

**

“Not to worry – we knew this might take some time.” Chris sounds a little pre-occupied, a touch of impatience creeping into his voice. Clearly he doesn’t think this was worth a call.

Great, just bloody fantastic – looking like a fool is exactly what was going for. “I was worried I might miss him, say if I went to the loo or anything, but no, no-one turned up.”

There’s a short silence on the other end of the line and Liam’s sure Chris wants to ask him if he’s sure he’d studied the photos enough to be able to recognise any or all of their targets even at a distance, even with a change in appearance.  But Chris, being an expert at handling people, knows better than to cast any kind of doubt in his faith in Liam at this stage. “Don’t worry, Sergeant; we need to get this right, so however long it takes...”

And that’s clearly the end of the conversation, so Liam accepts this and ends the call, as unsatisfied now as he’d been at the outset.

Nothing to do with Chris, though; he just wants to prove himself, prove he’s got what it takes, but if his target doesn’t even show up?

 

**

 

The next week is very strange.

He’s Lee Payne, now, and he works as an independent financial planner with a flashy flat and an expensive motor –living well beyond his means.

It never occurred to him just how seamless the undercover gig had to be. He’d just imagined you’d infiltrate a gang and somehow that’d be your life. It had never crossed his mind that when you’re undercover you actually become a different person, thus live a different _life_ – a life so alien to you...

Still, at least they’d allowed him to be self-employed and thus not be forced to stick to a routine, convince a entire office of people you were someone you clearly weren’t.

Yeah, small mercies.

He still had to somehow make it seem like he was busy servicing clients, that he actually knew what he was talking about. Well, okay, that bit wasn’t too bad – Chris had done his homework, knew he was good at accounting and all things money related -  and of course he conducted a lot of consultancy via the net, via the phone.

Yeah, that was good.

What wasn’t good was that this gave him way too much time to think, worry, over analyse.

That’s why he needed Wilson to show up next Saturday.

Even being hit on by the weedy creep had to be better than going stir crazy in this alien flat.

 

**

It takes 3 weeks for the target to show up.

Liam had slowly adjusted to his new life and was no longer spending all day planning his moves come the weekend. The truth is he’d even started to get over the anxiety of the coming encounter or even fears about the operation being a bust because their intel had been faulty or the target had already found what he was looking for – outside the club.

And he’d found friends in the club.

He’d visited the club four times in all and after the first night inevitably found himself talking to people, people he’d encounter the following week. It was only natural to keep talking, develop friendships.

That was both good and bad – good because it meant he actively enjoyed going to the club, now; bad because he didn’t want the target to assume he was coupled up; bad because the friends were a distraction and he wasn’t yet accomplished enough to multi task in the way he’d need to and would be able to once he’d become a seasoned undercover operator.

That’s how he missed it; only saw it when it was already too late.

**

He’s about to get a drink (thinking about it) when he sees Wilson heading to the bar.

The shock’s immense – unpleasant.

He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking – not about the job, that’s for sure. He’d got so resigned to him not showing up he’d fucking _forgotten_ why he was there.

Instinctively shrinking back into the shadows his aim is to give himself a moment to think things through.

Does he make himself known by drawing attention or is he meant to play the long game by allowing Wilson to notice him first?

Chris, for some reason, seems to believe he’s Wilson’s type. Liam doesn’t have a clue why; all he knows is that this does _not_ flatter him, for all it ostensibly makes the job easier.

Wilson’s a little taller than he expected, and not quite so effeminate in person. Definitely not his type though.

He makes a decision.

It’s already been a month; surely they need to get this thing started yesterday! He’s going to stand next to him at the bar, make sure he gets Wilson’s attention, and take it from there, wherever it leads.

He just hopes he’ll be able to pull this off - he’s never been great at pretending interest in someone he has no interest in.

He is pretty good at _acting_ , however...

 

**

Wilson has a beautiful voice, that’s the first thing, and though he isn’t all that physically attractive, the voice more than makes up for it.

And the charm – why had he not expected the charm?

The charm isn’t for Liam’s benefit – he’s harmlessly flirting with the barman, apparently something that’s a bit of a regular occurrence.

“And one for your sexy self, Martin.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of trying, Wilt?”

He laughs. “Perhaps one day, but until then... Cheers.” He’s still smiling as his glance takes in Liam, apparently noticing him for the first time.

Liam notices the expertly done onceover and can feel himself getting a little hot under the collar as Wilson’s gaze lingers.

Apparently a gay bar is a safe space, which apparently also means politeness is no longer deemed necessary. He supposes that most men go there to pull, so the notion of wasting time with polite conversation, dancing around the subject is summarily laughed out of court.

Ordinarily he’s all for it, but Lee Payne is, apparently, a bit of a shrinking violet.

“Hello.” Even the simple word is wreathed around with all kinds of invitation. The guy is actually kinda sexy in a weird way.

That is the most surprising thing...

“Hi.” Liam returns the smile, but immediately turns his attention to the barman. “When you’re ready...”

“Same as usual?” He’s smiling, flirting with him.

Liam hopes Wilson’s noticed. “Oh I’m a regular now? Should I be flattered you know my drinks order?”

“I wouldn’t be. It’s a party trick he has.” The accent is Northern – Yorkshire – and when he turns to his left he sees that the newcomer is smirking at the barman, then turning light brown eyes on him.

Photos do him no justice is the first thing that comes to mind, the second is: what’s he doing here?

“Oh, thanks for bursting my bubble. Thought I was well in.” He’s really surprised he hasn’t burst into flames yet; instead there he is, bantering like a champ, giving no indication of the turmoil raging inside.

Everybody takes this for what it is – a line – and greets it with the appropriate amusement.

Everyone except the guy standing on Wilson’s right.

He doesn’t seem amused at all, staring at Liam with piercing blue eyes.

Liam feels his heart still then speed up, galloping like it’s about to burst.

Porter.

And Jay Malik at his elbow?

How the fuck?

How the fuck did Chris not _know_ this?

And what the fuck is he meant to do now?

 

 

 


End file.
